Going Underground
by Twisted Root
Summary: An attempt to weave a story between Rorschach and Nite Owl in the days leading up to the capture of Underboss. Summaries suck, must investigate fu...ohh, I'm sure you can fill in.
1. Strangers in the Nite

**I desperately wanted to do a story based on Rorschach and Nite owl tackling Underboss in the city sewers with the assistance of hoverbikes, as mentioned in the novel-graphic or comic-serial based, your move.**

**Comments and criticism welcome. Re: criticism - I would claim to be thick skinned but am no more than a wilting rose petal in the coat pocket of a madman, so if there are mistakes, please try not to break my fingers as I have enough trouble typing as it is.**

**Watchmen does not belong to me...I'm just buggering around with it, is all.**

**Going Underground**.

Strangers in the Nite.

As his knees bent, he could hear a soft_ click_ and feel a slight stabbing sensation run up his thigh. He allowed his shoulders to drop and leaned back, releasing a drawn out groan and letting the hard panels of the rusting skip take his weight. The cold, damp weather of late was beginning to play havoc with his bones. He was about to reach his thirtieth birthday and already the twinges in his limbs were increasing.

Frank slid his fingers through his lank black hair and recalled his mother's warning that there was a history of Arthritis in the family on his father's side. Ah yes…his wretched father, the fierce, drunken old fool that he was. He was long dead now and the only thing that he had given his son were bruises, bad memories and a promise of degeneration of the joints.

'Bastard' frank mumbled.

The wind picked up, yet another monstrous element to the bitter weather that taunted him and yet the sweat steadily dripped off his reddened brow. With trembling fingers, Frank fumbled at the catch on the gold and black clutch bag. He heard a soft _clack _but averted his eyes from the contents. Instead, he let his head fall back against the skip, blinking clinging drops of water from his eyelashes. Hopefully, there would be something worthwhile in the pot of gold and black, something good to come out of this mess. He hadn't meant to kill her, just scare her a little but she had done something the others hadn't done before- she fought back, and Frank saw red.

His brows drew together at the memory realizing with a heavy heart that his hot-headedness was merely another unwelcome attribute he had inherited from his father.

The wind screamed through the gap between the crusty skip and the deserted soap warehouse causing Frank to lose his already unsteady grip on the bag. The high pitched howl made him think back to the girl. Ahh, shit! She hadn't screamed. She hadn't made a noise, not that she could with his trembling hands around her neck. He had only wanted to scare her. The noise came again, rattling broken window panes and screaming louder.

He didn't believe in such things, but it took little imagination to create the dead girl's howling ghostly form waiting for him behind the large metal container.

Frank sniffed and picked up the bag. 'Pull yourself together' he muttered. There were no such things as ghosts. He rose off the floor, again using the metal plate to steady his back. He heard the click in his knee again. Finally he stood, his eyes searching the contents of the bag. There didn't seem to be much. _What a waste_.

His spine suddenly straightened when he heard a _crunch_. That was definitely not his knee. The wind was growling now…no, that wasn't the wind! And _Oh God_...w_hat was that smell?_

Frank swung his body round one hundred and eighty degrees, his worn heel hissing with the turn. He moved his gaze down in order to face the apparition that stood before and below him. With growing horror, all Frank saw was the brilliant white face, dripping with moisture. Franks eyes widened and stuttered an expletive which was swept up and away by the wind. _My God, she had come back for revenge_, he thought. Frank's addled mind didn't notice that the apparition was wearing a fedora or that its body was wrapped within a dark tan trench coat. No, all he saw was _her_ face- her eye sockets, her nose, her lips painted in black and moving ominously against the dead white.

The next sound Frank heard was a bone in his arm snap but this time the thought that it could be impending Arthritis didn't even enter his mind.

...........

Dan stood regally on the ledge of what used to be the Saville Soap warehouse. He had left Archimedes back in her nest. There was no point in trying her out tonight, the weather was too wild and he still wasn't sure if he'd calibrated the thrusters correctly. There would be a time for trials, but for now, Dan didn't want twenty months of solid and lonely work to crack under the strain of unforgiving forces.

He grinned and adjusted his goggles, wondering if it would be a silly notion to invent some wipers for the lenses. The rain was utterly unrelenting and the wind, well, it was trying to compete with it. 'Battle of the superpowers' thought Dan. He shook the thought away when it reminded him of current affairs. Tensions were rising between the U.S. and the U.S.S.R.. Hopefully it would be some time before they would reach breaking point.

He felt his shoulders slump. The World was beginning to stockpile enough nuclear armaments to destroy the planet hundreds of times over and here was Dan Dreiberg, in his twenties, perched on a ledge and wearing a suit that made him look like a gigantic owl.

Still, he wasn't the only one. There were others who wore costumes. He had seen Dr. Manhattan many times, a superhero in every sense of the word, who didn't really wear a costume-well, just the one strategically placed item of clothing- and he hadn't actually met him, just seen him on the TV and in magazines.

He knew of The Comedian, mostly due to becoming equainted with the original Nite Owl. Dan thought of Hollis Mason and smiled. He had adored Nite Owl. When he was a kid he wanted to be just like him.

Now he was.

Nite Owl II stared at a couple of black clouds floating across the view of the moon and he suddenly realized that there was one other costumed hero he hadn't met…or even seen. The only ones who had had the pleasure were the criminals who had been caught by the man and their descriptions varied depending on how terrified they were. At least he assumed it was a man.

The newspaper artists had done their best to recreate sketches of the costumed adventurer who was named 'Rorschach', _and aptly so_ thought Dan, remembering the sketched ink blot mask in the newspaper along with a photograph of the small slip of paper the man left as a calling card, bearing symmetrical 'R's, mirrored perfectly. It was a great idea for a mask, and if it wasn't for his love of owls, Dan would have admitted to feeling a little jealous of it.

Dan became aware of his cape clapping furiously in the gale and felt silly again.

_Why on earth did he do it? _

That's when he heard the scream whooshing past him on the wind.

'Darn it!'

Dan jumped back off the ledge and ran across the roof, in a moment of clarity realising why he dressed up as a gigantic man-owl. He stopped before the opposite ledge and carefully peered over the side. He became increasingly frustrated at his water-logged goggles impairing his vision which just allowed him to make out two figures in the alley. One of them was standing and had an oddly shaped head; the other was lying on the ground-a dot and a slash. _Was it a mugging?_

Dan stared at the still figure on the ground, pulled at his gloves and clenched his jaw. _Perhaps it was a murder?_ Dan thought and immediately felt guilty on feeling a pang of excitement. His heart started pounding. He had to get down there.

It didn't take him long to spot the stairwell and to lower onto the grating, using his strong grip on the ledge to keep him steady. The groaning of aged metal underfoot after applying his full weight startled him and he gritted his teeth. Dan watched with concern as the standing figure several stories below cocked his misshapen head to the side for a few pulse snapping moments.

After a good few seconds, the odd head turned his attention back to the grounded man. Dan relaxed somewhat and his frustration at the weather swiftly turned to murmured thanks for the blanketing battle cries of the wind and rain but there was still the problem of descending the building without drawing further attention to himself. He thought about using his grappling hook to traverse the buildings and fly down to the scene, but instantly dismissed the idea as too risky. In this gale there was no telling where the hook would end up and if he broke a window, he would sacrifice his position, giving the criminal the option of a head start.

Tonight the owl would have to use its feet.

With each agonisingly placed foot the creaking continued, covered by the noise of ferocious weather. A couple of levels down and Dan realized that the standing man did not have a misshaped head but in fact was wearing a hat. He could also see the man on the ground was badly injured, his arm doubled back on itself-assault!

Dan proceeded to scan the surrounding area. Something next to the man caught Dan's vision. He squinted and noticed the shimmering gold diagonal strips on the bag. It had been opened. Further away from the bag, he could see the unmistakable pattern of light and dark stripes on a small tube of lipstick. It was something from the 'Calrin Cosmetics' range- Dan had seen it before. The Twilight Lady used the same products but there was no lady in this vicinity. Then it was a mugging, but where was the lady? It certainly wasn't Twilight as she never carried a bag and frankly, the mugger wouldn't have stood a chance.

Dan leaned against the railings in order to try and spot the woman who was missing from the equation when the metal grating gave the loudest groan yet. Quick reflexes ensured that he backed out of sight of the man in the hat who whipped around in his direction. Dan sucked cool air into his lungs and smiled, realizing that he was covered by darkness and of course the rain would make it difficult to see movement. Even so, he felt nervous as he slowly edged forward again and just about stopped a gasp from escaping from his wet lips as he stared at the man in the black and white mask.

It was Rorschach and he was looking straight at him.

'My God' mouthed Dan.


	2. Mask to Mask

**A/N: Not quite sure how quick I'll be updating, what with me not quite knowing what the heck I'm doing with this story, not that it matters much . Most of the time, the best laid plans of Mice and Watchmen are often discarded and feverishly rewritten anyway, so there you go. **

**Thank you for the review SirenRiya. The temptation for a first meeting of sorts was just too much to resist.  
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**To anyone who has commented on any of my previous stories, thank you! I'm not quite comfortable with responding to comments directly as I get a really guilty feeling that I'm spamming your inbox, for some reason. **

**Again, comments are welcome. Watchmen doesn't belong to me and I hope you enjoy this story. **

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Mask to Mask.

For what seemed like a lifetime, the harsh black ink moved steadily against the inert white head which remained directed at Dan.

He didn't know if it was the wind or a trickle of water that had found its way into his costume, but Dan could feel his spine shiver. In his short time as the second Nite Owl, he couldn't remember keeping his body as still as it was.

It was a ridiculous scenario of course as they were both on the same side, fighting the rotting underbelly of the city, trying to keep order where there was usually spandex-covered chaos. Dan fought the urge to give a friendly wave at the mask, instead keeping his muscles taught and trying to ignore the barrage of water against his goggles.

His goggles- Maybe they reflected the moonlight!

Dan's eyes widened before his brain directed him to scowl at the foolishness at trying to keep hidden from a potential ally. Nevertheless, when the mask turned back to the injured man, Dan felt his muscles relax. He wasn't sure whether now was a good time to introduce himself to Rorschach as he was obviously in the middle of something. Dan folded his arms over his chest and decided to watch a fellow crime fighter at work.

He observed with keen interest as Rorschach bent over the man, stepping astride him. Within seconds the injured man was resting over the shoulder of the masked man and being carried apace along the alley toward the dock road.

Two things surprised Dan as he watched this. First was the fact that the injured man was a hell of a lot bigger than the mask that carried him, the second was when Rorschach walked under the stairwell Dan was lurking on, and casually looked over his shoulder to glance at the spot where Nite Owl stood. Dan concluded that the man either had exceptional eyesight or else he had a finely tuned instinct to know when he was being watched.

As the greyed figure of Rorschach with passenger disappeared into the murky wet, Dan jumped down the stairs, ignoring the pleading gasps of worn metal. When he reached the second landing, he grasped the railing with one hand and vaulted over and down onto the sodden pavement with a splash.

He quickly scanned the ground. The handbag had gone, but the lipstick remained, floating upon a puddle. Dan leant over and picked it up. If there was a crime that had been committed here, then it was being handled by Rorschach, so Dan knew that there was no reason for him to linger, apart from the fact that curiosity seemed to be pricking his skin with a needle-like insistence. For once, it would be good to know others with similar attitudes and drives to him. If anything, it might make him feel less useless about his career choice.

Dan grasped tightly onto the lipstick and ran down the alley after Rorschach. He wasn't sure what he would say if he caught up with him, but to hell with it.

When he reached the Dock road, Dan spotted the injured man, his arms tethered to lamppost with his jacket, his dark hair slickly snaking over his eyes. From a distance it looked as though Rorschach's mask had bled on him. Whoever this Rorschach was, he was a quick worker.

As Dan edged closer, he could see that the man was unconscious. He gave a pitying look to the captured criminal. He almost hoped that the police would pick him up before he awoke to find his broken arm tightly strapped in its awkward position. Dan certainly didn't want to be present to hear screams.

Muggers were increasingly common and could be dangerous in their own way, but they didn't deserve the kind of pain this man had been set up for, leaving Dan to wonder if meeting his fellow crime fighter was such a good idea after all.

Nite Owl scoured his surroundings, seeing only the faint blue silhouettes of abandoned warehouses in the distance. In the space above them, he saw a dirigible floating aimlessly through the grey skies, a silent, bulky sentinal with a small red blip warning anything else airborne to stay away.

Dan shook his head and leaned closer to the bound man. His eyebrows rose when he saw the open clutch bag resting on the man's lap just under his belt. Secured to the catch on the belt was a small strip of paper bearing Rorschach's symmetrical signature. The scrap of paper was already beginning to break apart in the downpour.

Because Rorschach was nowhere to be seen and because he wanted to feel like he hadn't wasted his time, Dan manoeuvred the lipstick between thumb and forefinger and positioned it over the inside of the bag. He suddenly felt a presence behind him and a strange smell that pervaded the air and assaulted his nostrils. He froze.

'Hrrrruum'

Dan shot up and rocketed round to face the owner of the jagged voice. He adjusted his head to look down at the man, considerably shorter than his reputation suggested.

'Errr.' Dan stared open mouthed at the mask, horrified that he was already entranced by the morphing blots. _No wonder the guy was successful with a face as distracting as that!_

Without thinking, Dan sniffed the air and then instantly regretted doing so. There was an unpleasant whiff of body odour and rotting fish in the air. He knew it came from Rorschach and wondered whether his apprehension of the criminal had overworked the man's sweat glands. The smell of fish-well, Dan could only assume it came from Rorschach's trench coat. In the rain it looked clean, but the smell told a different story. He idly wondered if the man had fallen into the dock at some point.

However bad the rancid scent was, it didn't stop Dan from thinking about shaking the mask's hand, but when he noticed that Rorschach kept his digits firmly in his coat pockets, he decided that now might not be the time. He curled his own fingers back into his palms.

Rorschach stared at Dan for a moment before tilting his head toward the lipstick. The blobs swirled together and then pushed apart. 'Lipstick left for the benefit of police. They find that, they find the body lying in the alley next to it.'

Dan closed his jaw and dumbly looked down at the small container, any excuse to stop staring at the face, which combined with the odour was starting to make him feel nauseous. Even so, he wasn't able to avoid the voice which was rough and chiding.

'Murder?' said Dan. He instantly regretted the shocked response. He hadn't even thought to look for the missing equation after his attention had been turned by the strange man in front of him.

'You didn't see the body?' asked Rorschach. There was an incredulous growl in his throat which made Dan wince.

'No, not in this weather. The rain distorts the view through my…Thought it might have been a mugging, besides, surely the police would search the area as a matter of course. After all, he doesn't look like the kind of man who owns a gold handbag' argued Dan, feeling incredibly annoyed with himself.

'You believe that the authorities would do their jobs without error?' asked Rorschach.

'I'm sure they wou…' Dan trailed off and steadied himself for the response he was expecting.

'Then why do you do wear that costume?'

Dan gave a resigned smile. 'I'm just the extra help. The police are not that incompetent.'

Dan truly believed this. At no point did he feel that he was making up for anybody's failings, just giving a helping hand where it was needed.

'Uh-hurn.' Rorschach stared at Nite Owl in silence for a long few seconds before turning on his heel and shuffling off along the dock road, hands in pockets.

Dan frowned as he watched the masked man walk away. Before Rorschach became enveloped in the downpour he turned his white head to one side.

'Must be _nice_ to have faith' he said simply, and disappeared into the grey.

Standing impotently next to the murderer and holding a dead woman's lipstick, Dan looked down at the injured man and grimaced. He looked like an ordinary Joe-nothing special or particularly cruel about him. He was a murderer and Dan was annoyed that the thought hadn't even crossed his turned the lipstick over and over again between his fingers thankful that the departure of Rorschach took away the smell of sweat and fish.

He scowled and looked at the empty space once occupied by Rorschach. Dan Dreiberg _did _have faith. The city wasn't beyond redemption and the authorities were trying their best. _Damn him_, he thought. 'I'm not ready to bow down to cynicism just yet' he half shouted, knowing the sentiment wouldn't stray past the deafening gush of air.

In the silence following, he heard his cape clapping against the wind, a mocking applause for his failure. Dan sighed, bowed his head and loped back into the alleyway, kicking his boots through the rising puddles, the dead woman's lipstick firmly in his grasp. His thoughts turned to the poor girl who he was about to visit and to his first real meeting with another active costumed adventurer.

He suddenly felt very depressed.

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**Quick note: Rorschach's sentence structure is not as curtailed as you expect, as this story is pre-Blair Roche. In the book, Rorschach speaks normally (for want of a better word) during the Crimebuster's meeting in 1966, so his speech will be a lot less truncated except in stressful situations.**


	3. Testing Archimedes

**A/N: Because at this time Walter is 'pretending' to be Rorschach, I'm using both Walter AND Rorschach when describing the vigilante. When Rorschach is experiencing weakness for example, I use Walter.**

**It's driving me insane.**

**Enjoy.**

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Testing Archimedes

It had been two days since Dan's encounter with Rorschach and the weather remained as miserable as his mood. He looked out of his apartment window, past the dribbling streaks, and saw two figures kissing in the alleyway opposite. Dan smiled. Even in the appalling weather, there was a promise of hope and of love.

'…nice to have faith.'

He didn't quite understand why, but the brief exchange with Rorschach had left Dan with an aftertaste of despair. There was a misanthropic tinge to Rorschach's last words to him: 'Must be nice to have faith'

'Must be _nice _to have faith.' Dan replayed the words over in his head, like he did when as waited for the coroner to give the go-ahead for removal of the young woman's body in the alley. The police took the lipstick. He had stood away from the crime scene, occasionally glancing at the eerily quiet forensics personnel as they squirreled their way around the corpse.'..must be _nice...'_

Dan would never have thought it was possible, but somehow Rorschach had managed to make the word 'nice' seem distinctly vile.

Well, this Rorschach fellow might have lost faith in the city, but Dan knew the system worked for the most part. It had to work. If you welcomed cynicism with open arms then what would be the point in fighting? Even Rorschach must have known that. There must have been some semblance of hope underneath the smelly Mac, or else why bother using your energy for a futile goal?

He glanced at the young couple in the alley again. A small moment passed before his warm smile was replaced with a grimace. The couple hadn't moved…at all.

Dan craned his neck forward until the tip of his hawk like nose pressed against the cool pane. His steady breath steamed the glass somewhat, adding a foggy illusion to the wet view.

Eventually, he solved the mystery, his brain having worked out that the figures were two dimensional and painted on the pale grey wall like a vulgar memory. Dan allowed himself a bitter sigh and shook his head. The city's graffiti had progressed from the usual ''insert name' woz ere' and ''insert name *heart* 'insert name'' to something far more surreal. Dan wasn't sure he liked the change and when he squinted hard at the silhouettes they became dark blurry blobs against a light background, reminding him of Rorschach and his words:

'Must be _nice _to have faith_'_

Dan moved away from the window and with determined strides, headed toward the basement.

**..........**

Walter tried to keep his head up. The rain had long since soaked into his mask and it clung to every inch of his face making him feel like a human sponge. He didn't mind the rain though; it felt as though nature was in some way on his side, wanting to cleanse the city of filth. He knew that it wouldn't succeed, as he couldn't. There would always be filth and scum and dirt, and Rorschach, who would be there to mop it up, even though at times the exercise seemed no more than trying to clean a muddy field with a toothbrush.

In addition, the smell of fish seemed to be subsiding in the onslaught. Rorschach made a mental note to never again leave his Trench coat amongst a fish monger's trash cans. He didn't want his element of surprise to be lost on criminals because of week old haddock.

Indeed, the rain had its uses, but even now as the city slept, not even the rats ventured out.

He skimmed a puddle with his boot and turned right down another of the city's bricked veins. He would head over to the docklands next. The poorer quarters were free of filth for the time being and a quick check in the more affluent parts of the town would end his shift amongst the occupied buildings.

Rorschach slunk past a couple of shiny garbage cans before stopping dead in his tracks when he noticed a couple of dark figures lurking in the rain. They were grasping at each other in a lewd fashion. _Sick degenerates_, he thought, feeling his lip curl. _Wealth didn't cure depravity; it just paid for more of it. Sick was sick regardless of its sheen_. Rorschach took a step toward the couple.

'You're in my way. Go and take your business elsewhere' he growled.

No sound, just the constant hiss of rain. Rorschach tightened his fists and took another step forward.

'Said go…Now!'

There was no response. Rorschach tilted his head, throwing a gloop of water from the brim of hat. It became quickly apparent that there was no movement from either of them–client or whore.

He took a few longer strides forward and continued until he reached the tainted brick wall. One gloved finger tentatively reached out to caress the spray painted figures but stopped short.

_This was new_, thought Rorschach. The city's disgusting authors had decided to spray scum art instead. _Still no wit_, he mused, _just a different medium with which to advertise their perversity_. He took a few paces back and suddenly remembered his mother. Walter fought to still the rising bile in his throat and turned away. If he ever found the artist he would make sure the vandal had no arms in which to desecrate the city with again.

Within minutes he was far away from the graffiti and from the unwelcome memories.

He couldn't afford to be distracted as he had a job to do. Underboss had gained an unscheduled early release from prison due to bureaucratic incompetency and stupidity and it would be left to Rorschach to hunt the dog down, mop in hand.

**..........**

Dan pulled the final spotless glove over his left hand and snapped his goggles into place. The cackling rain, the false lovers and Rorschach's words had been pushed aside to make way for a heady feeling of anticipation and excitement.

The butterflies in Dan's stomach fluttered as he climbed the steps into the warm interior of Archimedes-nice, pretty butterflies that made him feel alive.

His ship was ready to go.

The wind had abated and the rain shouldn't be a problem. All that was left to do was to fly her. Closing the door behind him, Dan took a deep breath and grinned wide. He settled into the pilot seat and wriggled leisurely in its soft grasp.

For the last couple of weeks he had carefully piloted her up, steadily, just to get a feel. The first soft hum of the engines powering up had caused Dan to fist the air in delight and since then, he had made regular visits to the basement in order to practice control, that is until one of the thrusters had choked, jolting Archimedes into a series of spirals which made Dan's goggles mist up with fright.

Nevertheless, it was fixed now. Everything had been checked and double checked. Tonight Nite Owl would soar.

The console's bright lights flickered enticingly on the dashboard. Dan grasped the steering with one hand and activated the thrusters. They whirred into life. Dan sighed contentedly and patted the dashboard.

'Well, Archie, here we go.'

Underboss had recently executed a well planned and daring escape from Sing Sing in spite of the best efforts of the wardens to prevent it and it was up to Nite Owl to ensure that this particular criminal mastermind was brought back to face justice.

He accelerated slowly forward into the large circular tunnel that would take him through the bowels of the city blocks until he reached the warehouse and thence into the New York skies.

_So far so smooth_, he thought as Archimedes skimmed seamlessly through the tunnel. Dan felt confidence course through his veins and with bubbling excitement he increased acceleration. Only he pushed a bit too hard. The sensation of his head being forced back was not a pleasant one.

'Ooohhhh SHHHHHHIIIIII….!'

**..........**

Rorschach looked left and then right down the sleek empty roads. The rain had stopped its tirade and had now settled for drizzle. Satisfied that there were no prying eyes watching him, Rorschach strode across the tarmac, hands drying in his pockets.

The next alley was littered with trashcans and a large skip belonging to the Deli Delicious restaurant. He passed one of the containers and span round at the sound of a clattering lid hitting the floor. His knees bent, arms in a defensive posture, Rorschach growled menacingly at the stray cat. 'Do that again. One less life' he breathed.

The bedraggled creature hissed in response and flew behind the skip.

He needed sleep. He couldn't afford to waist precious energy on rejected animals. He straightened up and threw his hands back into his Mac.

Another rattle chimed in the rain.

_Ignore it, _he thought.

Then another.

Rorschach looked back at the trashcans. Each lid quivered gently and then more so until they began to shake violently. He watched in disbelief as the skip rattled, causing the stray cat to growl and dash for its life from behind it.

'Can't be an earthquake' gasped Rorschach 'not possible.'

He felt the vibrations getting stronger underfoot. The lids fell off the cans and danced on the pavement. The noise from them was irritatingly loud. Rorschach's legs shook with each tremor and he bent his knees again, keeping his balance as the jolting came and went.

The lids ended their tinny jig until all was still and quiet again. He couldn't be certain, but Rorschach thought that at one point, amongst the sound of metal clattering, he heard some kind of muffled yell. He wasn't quite sure where it had come from and it annoyed him that he didn't know.

Walter licked his lips and felt rough, soggy material on his tongue. Could it have been earth tremors? He knew that there were no underground trains running on this stretch. 'Hummph.' It was yet another mystery to be investigated. He would have to do it later.

He turned back toward his destination and cocked his head at the scraping sound of a windowsill being opened in the building beside him.

'WHAT IN THE HOLY HELL WAS THAT?' shouted a blurry eyed man leaning half way out of the window.

The occupant rubbed his eyes and saw the mask with rapidly moving inkblots staring up at him.

'Get back to bed' Rorschach hissed.

The man's eyes widened and he quickly banged the window down hard making the glass rattle, cursing his luck that he must have been the only person in New York who had managed to wake up to a nightmare.

**..........**

Archie flew through the warehouse exit, Dan having just remotely activated the doors in the nick of time.

Dan's arms were taught and he could feel the strain of his shoulder muscles battling with the ship's steering. He pulled back and allowed his mouth to form an 'O' as Archie rose steeply into the air above the Hudson River.

Ten minutes later and with the ship on Auto pilot, Dan sank back into the seat and grasped the armrests with trembling hands.

'Next time' he gasped to no-one '…slower speed…through tunnel….Thank you God!' With that, he leaned forward and a planted a grateful kiss on Archie's dashboard.


	4. The Old Number One

**A/N-Thank you for the reviews. I'm spurred on by the kind words and it's nice to know that some are enjoying the story so far. **

**Nellodee: That's exactly how I feel about Nite Owl and Rorschach's relationship. I can't imagine that Walter socializes much in his day job, certainly not in his personal life, so Dan is bound to influence him in some ways and Dan will in turn, learn from Rorschach. **

**teacrumb: Thank you for the cyber muffins! They're fantastic as they don't add weight to my hips and I never get crumbs on my keyboard-the perfect muffin.**

**The name 'The Old Number One' was the nickname of a old dock building that I used to explore in my childhood. It had 'condemned' and 'danger' signs plastered all over it which acted as a magnet for all the kids in the area.  
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**And so onward to the longest chapter so far. Let's hope it doesn't produce the loudest yawns.**

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The Old Number One

Rorschach approached the tattered warehouse colloquially known as 'The Old Number One'. For years it had been just another abandoned dockland building which had once housed crates of imported foodstuffs. Now its empty shell sheltered nothing more than the smell of damp air and a sense of nostalgia.

The only thing that had kept it in the collective memories of the community was rumours of apparitions that allegedly haunted its worn interior. All tall tales fabricated by teenagers to scare siblings and the occasional gang member whose loyalty had been snared by Underboss.

Rorschach looked up at the windows that dotted the buildings circumference. The black square eyes stared back at him.

People were predictable, thought Rorschach. They couldn't stand looking at something without life or the promise of it, so instead they had stared past the truth and systematically filled the vacuous rooms with terrors from the id. They would rather have ghosts and monsters in their midst than nothing at all.

People felt uncomfortable that a place could be so empty, so devoid of incessant chatter or any kind of noise that after a while, even something as basic as four crumbling walls and a rotting floorboard could gain an unsavoury reputation. They applied the same romantic views to people as Walter knew all too well. After all it made them feel better to think that there was something in the darkness, rather than just darkness itself.

Walter remembered an excerpt from the Ancient Mariner as he sidled up to the wide wooden doors:

_Like one, that on a lonesome road  
Doth walk in fear and dread,  
And having once turned round walks on,  
And turns no more his head;  
Because he knows, a frightful fiend  
Doth close behind him tread.__ *_

People knew of the horror that followed them, having seen it once, they wouldn't look it in the eye again…too frightened. Was it because they saw their own sins in the grotesque form or simply because they feared being alone with only their true face to keep them company?

That is why Underboss had used The Old Number One as his hideout. There was nothing as effective as the promise of ones terrible imagination to keep them from prying .

That is why Rorschach had come. Walter didn't walk in fear and held no superstitions. The road behind was as lonesome as the one stretching ahead and although he had as much imagination as anyone else, he had never seen any such frightful fiend.

Rorschach fondled the heavy lock attached the chains that held the door handles rigid. He didn't expect Underboss to be so stupid as to return to the place he was last captured, however, the place could house an ex gang member turned junkie and it didn't take much for an addict to spill information, especially when the love of their life was dangled over the side of the dock between thumb and forefinger.

Walter allowed himself a wry grin. Fingers were extremely useful things. They didn't have to be broken to obtain results.

He sidled up to the wide wooden doors and fumbled around in his pocket. Retrieving a small piece of bent steel wire, Rorschach set to work on the lock.

**………****.**

Dan settled back into the pilot's seat. He had spent the last five minutes poring over the ship's systems, making sure that nothing was amiss. He also tried out the onboard coffee machine. The way this night was going; Dan was going to require a good few doses of caffeine. He fumbled about with his beverage for a few seconds and made a note to add a cup holder to Archie's dashboard.

He allowed a little time to be distracted by the shimmering stars before he turned Archimedes about and set off toward the North side of the docks-to a known hideout that was once frequented by Underboss.

It was as good a place to start as any. After all, clues could be found even in the smallest places and there was no telling what revelations might be concealed within the warehouse's four walls.

**………****.**

Rorschach entered the building, his soft soles muffling the sound of his presence. The interior of the building was a jigsaw of black shadow and white moonlight, which filtered through the high, dusty windows. Broken crates were piled against the walls, each upstanding jagged shard creating sharp fingered shapes upon crumbled brick. Battered cardboard carcasses that had once housed coffee tins lay strewn across the hard concrete floor, devoid of their usefulness and left to rot in the warehouse.

_No more than broken organs in a disused body_, Rorschach mused as he stepped over a sagging box.

Standing in the middle of the vast ground floor, covered by a strip of shadow, Rorschach remained motionless for a minute, listening intently for any noises that would betray human presence. When no sound became apparent, he walked the ground's perimeter, shifting crates aside, peering into boxes and scanning the floor.

When he was satisfied he was alone, he took out a small pocket torch and flipped the switch.

There were four floors in the building. Rorschach looked at his watch: eleven fifty-five. He would have to scour the premises as quickly as possible. He had work tomorrow and Walter desperately needed sleep.

The investigation of the ground floor brought no clues, neither did the first floor. He wearily trod up the shaky wooden stairs to the next level which-like the ground floor-was mostly empty save for two worm eaten desks huddled in the shadows at opposite corners of the large room.

Rorschach took two steps in before a flapping noise captured his attention. He swung the torch toward the sound. Its weak beam fell upon a yellowed New York Gazette which lay crumpled next to a window, one tattered corner pulling its ochre tongue at the masked man.

He edged deeper into the room.

The rest of the floor was scantily littered with playing cards and burger wrappers. It took Rorschach ten minutes to dredge through the leftovers and find a business card with the name 'Tweety's emblazoned in bold font across the off-white paper.

Rorschach growled with displeasure. Tweety's was a strip bar on 42nd street. He had passed it many times on his travels but never thought he would ever see its lurid contents…but a lead was a lead and the clientele there might be harbouring the information he needed in order to capture Underboss.

Walter took his hat off and gently rubbed the top of his head, trying to decide whether to leave the visit until tomorrow, when he would be refreshed and better prepared.

He heard a soft humming up above. _Probably another dirigible on its way to nowhere in particular_, he thought.

By nature, Walter wasn't indecisive, but the thought of having to enter a place of ill-repute and the fact he was tired left him rocking on his heels in the middle of the room. It took a moment for him to realize that he wasn't rocking-the floor was. The accompanying sound of roaring air from above rattled the windows.

Rorschach tilted his masked chin toward the ceiling.

'Definitely not an earthquake' he hissed.

**………****.**

Dan carefully lowered Archie onto the roof of The Old Number One. Although it had seen better days, the building had been constructed in a time when architects hadn't stinted on building materials. Its structure had survived years of neglect and when it bore the weight of the ship, it did so with little more than a soft crunch.

Dan gave an approving nod and hurried over to the exit hatch. He didn't expect anyone to be in the building, but if he searched hard enough, maybe something useful would reveal itself to him.

He dropped onto the flat roof, bending his knees to take up any hard impact which in turn would take up the sound of his presence. He turned his body one hundred and eighty degrees to the left and then to the right, running his sight across any patch that might house a clue. When he found nothing of interest, Dan headed over to the roof door, activating the night-vision in his goggles.

The stairwell suddenly gained an emerald hue, the darker brick walls on either side a sap green tint. The night-vision or 'Nite-Vision' as Dan thought of it was one of the first purchases he acquired in his early days as a costumed adventure.

With a little research Dan knew that an Owl's visual capabilities in low level lighting were no better than humans. Although mostly a nocturnal species, most Owls relied on their acute sense of hearing to stalk and capture their prey. With this knowledge at hand, Dan had excitedly fitted audio enhancer's to either side of his mask and after spending several days in bed with a migraine, had decided that maybe night goggles were the way forward and he was right. On many occasions, they had proved invaluable.

When he reached the top floor he set to work, scouring the dusty boards, peering into the fire grates and rummaging through a sea of green litter. In doing so, he spotted a small receipt.

'Libby Laundromat' said Dan, reading out the name on the top of the slip of paper. 'That's interesting.'

**………****.**

Rorschach stopped climbing the stairs when he heard the faint voice carry from the top level. Someone was up there! _Maybe this trip wasn't such a waste after all,_ he thought, gently cracking his knuckles in his lilac gloves.

Rorschach ascended further, each careful step falling lightly on the next stair, increasing his weight, quickly judging whether the frail wood would groan out under pressure. No creaks belied his stalking. Good.

After creeping up a few more steps, Rorschach heard the shuffling of paper and trained his gaze up at the dark room. Addict, thug, feared gangster? Whoever? Rorschach felt compelled to introduce himself. The darkest interior yet would provide excellent cover.

Things were looking up.

**………****.**

Dan looked down at the small receipt. It could be nothing. On the other hand it could be something. He secured the receipt in his belt pouch and steadily worked through the rest of the litter. He felt something rewarding in doing a little detecting now and again. It wasn't just about flying fists and high kicks after all. Bloodied noses were all well and good, but there was something challenging about having to solve a puzzle leading to an arrest.

He picked up another slip of paper that had been caught in the gap between the floor boards. It was torn at the edges and was blank on one side, so he turned it over. The first thing that caught his eye in the green glow as the paper twisted in his hand was an almost black spot of ink near the edge.

Dan smiled. This place was full of clues. He had a good feeling about this one.

He spent a moment in silence looking at the 'clue' which bore nothing but two mirrored 'R's. Dan opened his mouth to sigh but his breath caught sharply when he heard the floorboard creak behind him.

It happened so fast. Dan didn't turn his head; he simply pulled his crouched form forward and brought his left leg around in a whip-snap circular motion behind him, the rest of his body following the path around. He saw his assailant jump over his leg with a lightning reflex that made Dan grit his teeth, and didn't have time to look up before he felt the impact of a boot in his side. Dan's utility belt softened the blow and in turn, he responded by grabbing the attackers stationary ankle and yanking hard. The body hit the floor with a thud and a grunt but immediately kicked out with its other leg, smacking Dan squarely in the jaw.

'Ooof'

He careered into the wall and gave a quick shake of his head. When Dan looked up, he caught the sight of a green form lunging at him.

A speedy shift of his body weight caused him to roll out the way in time, allowing his attacker's head to say hello to the wall.

The figure growled and leant back on his knees. Whoever it was, he recovered quickly and was fast, of that Dan had no doubt, but it was too late for him, as Dan had already gripped onto the back of his coat belt and...

Dan's eyes widened as he clocked the tainted green fedora resting on the floor beside him and then stared slack-jawed at the bald green head in front of him, which Dan knew was actually pure white.

'Wait!' he gasped. 'Ro…'

The word was knocked from his lips courtesy of Rorschach's elbow. Dan fell to the side and felt unpleasant tang of copper mixed with saliva. Suddenly there was pressure on his torso and his wrists. When Dan's blurry green vision cleared he saw Rorschach straddling his chest and leering down at him. The pale green white became a whirr of amorphous blobs stretching across the mask. The dark stains that passed for Rorschach's eye sockets stretched languorously up his forehead.

It took a few seconds of staring intensely at Nite Owl's distinctive round goggles before Rorschach's head jolted back suddenly, as though a snake had tried to take a bite out of his face. In a flash, Rorschach released his grip around Dan's wrists and bolted up, standing astride of the floored man, his fists clenched tightly into dark purple balls.

'You!' growled a raspy voice.

* * *

***Excerpt from the poem: The Rime of the Ancient Mariner by Samuel Taylor Coleridge.**


	5. Meet my Partner

**A/N: Antimatterannihilation: If things go according to plan there will be another meeting of sorts in a future chapter...possibly XD**

**teacrumb: That particular snippet from 'Rime...' will be alluded to again in the next chapter, which I hope to begin writing soon. *nervous laughter***

**Thank ye muchly for the reviews and favs, alerts...They make my day. **

**

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Meet my Partner

'Eurgh, er…hello again' groaned Dan, propping himself up by his elbows.

Rorschach remained in position standing above Nite Owl. The blots on the face were stationary for a moment, his head tilted severely to one side.

Dan couldn't shake off the nagging feeling that Rorschach was glaring at him, such as he deduced from the stationary blots which looked suspiciously like symmetrical question marks with wings. He couldn't be sure of his assumption though…Hell, he wasn't sure of anything at the moment. He licked some of the blood off his bottom lip and blinked a couple of times. _The bastard had hit him. _

'Fancy meeting you here' said Dan, becoming embarrassed about the unsettling silence surrounding them. He held out a hand to Rorschach whose black features returned to swimming across his mask. 'I'm Nite Owl' he finished feebly.

Rorschach looked down at Dan's proffered hand and grabbed it.

Despite Dan's intention that this was to be a handshake, a gesture of goodwill to his fellow costumer, Rorschach clearly had other ideas. He hauled Nite Owl up with an ease that shocked Dan. He still couldn't get used to the idea that someone could possess strength that went at odds with his diminutive height.

'I know who you are. I've read about your exploits in the papers. Another suited weirdo-not my words, of course' said Rorschach releasing his grip from Nite Owl's.

Dan wasn't going to let him get away with the snipe. 'Yeah, seems that we're everywhere at the moment', he said with a wry grin, not knowing if his companion could see the smirk in the murk.

Silence followed.

'So you're Rorschach. You have quite the reputation', continued Dan, giving his cape a vigorous shake to relieve it of dust it obtained during the scuffle.

'Urrrmmm. What are you doing here?' asked Rorschach, picking up his hat.

'Don't know if you've heard, but Underboss escaped from Sing Sing a few days ago. I'm just looking for clues.'

Rorschach glanced over to the strewn remnants of paper. He gave a grunt and ambled over to the doorway. 'Have you found anything?'

'I found a receipt for…er, Libby Laundromat' Dan pursed his lips 'it's probably nothing.' he finished quickly.

'Could be. Then again it might lead to something' replied Rorschach, smacking the dirt off his gloves.

Dan gave a faint smile. 'Have you found anything? I assume you're following the same trail?'

'Yes. Have you heard of a place called…'

A thought occurred to Dan as he watched Rorschach's shoulder's tense up, namely that his companion would be unaware of the fact that Dan would clearly see his movements through his Nite Goggles. He was intrigued to witness a slight shudder rattle through the trench coat and although he had to squint, Dan was sure that whatever jaw Rorschach hid under his mouth, it was clenched tight making the white mask adopt a new, smaller shadow just below the corners of his mandibles.

'…Tweety's', he said in a low rumble.

'Oh yeah, it's a strip joint on forty second, isn't it?' replied Dan cheerfully.

Rorschach stood in the frame of the doorway. His posture didn't give any clues to what he was thinking but the silence spoke volumes. Dan swore the temperature dropped a few degrees.

'Not that I've ever been there of course' said Dan quickly 'A friend of a friend had a stag party there once. Told me about it, Uh-hum' Dan tactfully changed the topic of strip to search. 'Why do you ask?'

In response, Rorschach flipped a small rectangular card between his fingers. Dan reached out and took it, eyeing up the curly font on its surface. He looked up at the masked man when he gave a grunt of approval.

'I suspected you were wearing night vision' Rorschach grunted.

Dan couldn't help but laugh at this. In the dark came the light. _Resourceful and bright_ thought Dan.

'Well, if you've not found anything else and I know I'm finished here, I'd like you to come meet my partner.'

Rorschach nodded the affirmative as Dan squeezed past him into the hallway. He still had no idea what those markings were telling him but at least he was on speaking terms with another adventurer and it felt good.

**..........**

'Impressive' remarked Rorschach as he circled the bulk of Nite Owl's ship.

Dan had deactivated his Nite Vision and stood beaming at Archie who in turn sat gleaming in the moonlight. 'It's Archie's first test run tonight' he explained.

'Archie?' asked Rorschach.

'Oh. Archimedes.'

Rorschach nodded, not turning his head away from the large round glass lens that made up the ship's eyes.

As much as the thought occurred to Dan that he didn't want to risk taking anybody else on board during a trial run which, if went awry, could mean the demise of two rising costumed heroes, he couldn't help it as the words spilled out of his mouth, probably the result of trying to murder the silence more than anything else.

'Would you like to take a ride?'

Rorschach's head jolted up. He looked at the ship then back at Nite Owl, then back to the ship.

'Is it safe?' he asked.

Dan raised his eyebrows. It was the first time he had heard Rorschach with a note of concern in his voice.

'Well, I'm still here' he said. Realizing this wasn't going to be enough to convince the man, he added 'I've gone through it with a fine toothed comb. Believe me, there's no way I'd go up in this thing if there was the slightest possibility of it faulting.'

'I've never flown before' said Rorschach matter-of-factly.

'Oh'. This was unusual to Dan. Most people had access to air travel nowadays. He felt embarrassed when the rational part of his brain told him that there were some people out there who might not be able to afford to travel by air, or even had anywhere to go. Dan felt a guilty stab at the reminder that he was wealthy and could afford much that others could only dream of. He quickly shook away the personal demons and smiled warmly at Rorschach.

'There's always a first time' he said.

'Uuuurmm.'

'And I've got a coffee machine in there if you fancy a…'

'Yes.'

**..........**

It startled Dan how quickly Rorschach seemed to shrug off anxiety. He looked to the passenger seat beside him to see the occupant with a cup of steaming hot coffee resting in his lap. Even without the benefit of his facial expression to guide him, Nite Owl could tell by Rorschach's posture that he was relaxed.

He decided to while away a good couple of minutes by doing a thorough systems check of Archie. Dan didn't think that the ship had suddenly decided to entertain ghosts in the machine, but he was rather worried that he had a passenger-who hadn't been airborne before- sitting in front of the console, grasping a coffee filled to the brim.

Rorschach had noticed the delay.

'Is there something wrong Nite Owl?' he asked.

'Oh no no…Just a quick check whilst you drink your coffee.' Dan hoped he would get the hint.

Rorschach nodded and continued to ignore the beverage in his lap.

Dan tried again. 'You know, you should drink that before it gets cold'.

'Hmm, and fluids don't mix well with electrics. Point taken. Apologies. I'm a little tired.'

Dan smiled and pretended to adjust his seat whilst the man beside him lifted the lip of his mask. Every so often Dan would sneak a look at the bottom half of Rorschach's face. He wasn't sure what he expected to find there, but again, Dan's curiosity about his strange companion was piqued. and the most information he had gathered about the crime fighter was that he was white, had two days worth of stubble growth and cracked lips which moistened slightly as he took the first long sip of coffee. There was strength in the angular jaw but not in the nose, which-gathering by the tip and the line of the mask over it-was small and high set.

His eyes roamed back to the console as Rorschach finished the coffee after the third gulp, wiping a dribble from his jaw before he set his mask back in place.

Dan pushed the ignition button and the engine hummed to life. He turned to his passenger to tell him to belt up but snapped his jaw shut when he saw that Rorschach had already done so. He suppressed a smile and operated the thrusters.

It wasn't long before Archie soared into the sky over the city with Dan helmed at the controls trying to keep his body language composed for the sake of his new friend, who had adopted a death grip on the end of the armrests, stretching the leather knuckles of his purple gloves to breaking point.

They flew under the clouds and over burgs and weaved past buildings. At one point a dirigible bearing the slogan 'Things go better with Coke' chugged out into their flight path from behind a skyscraper causing Rorschach's head to fly back into the seat, pushing his fedora forward. Dan managed a high pitched shriek before veering sharply to the left. He pulled on the steering and forced Archie up past the clouds.

When the ship had settled to the horizontal and the acceleration dulled, Dan looked over to his passenger.

The costumed hero known only as Rorschach who was already a terrifying element amongst the criminals in the underworld sat stock straight in his chair with the purple knuckles on his gloves now much a much paler lilac. Dan couldn't tell what his facial blots were doing as they were hidden under the man's hat which lay askew across his top half of his face.

Dan drew in deep breaths 'Are you…okay?'

'Fine' came the laconic reply.

'Your hat…seems to have fallen…over your face' Dan panted each breath, not able to take his eyes away from the ludicrous sight before him.

'I think I prefer it that way' said Rorschach in a gruff tone.

This was too much for Dan. He burst into fits of laughter and couldn't stop. Rorschach didn't help matters by adding: 'I think next time, I'll take the train.' His words trailed into a deep throated chuckle which made Dan laugh harder.

It was one thirty in the morning when Dan positioned Archie just in front of the harbour pier close to where they had first met.

The two crime fighters had decided to pool their resources and work together on the case…well, Dan had suggested it during the trip back and Rorschach had given a terse nod.

It was difficult to tell whether Rorschach was unenthusiastic about the idea of a partnership or just tired. Dan leaned toward the latter, knowing that Rorschach wouldn't have any trouble with saying 'no' if he didn't feel comfortable with it.

As Rorschach scrambled down the ladder from the hatch, Nite Owl realized that in the excitement over the prospect of a partnership, he'd forgotten to shake the man's hand. Rorschach hadn't offered, but still the thought made Dan blush. It was a simple gesture of trust and of friendship and Dan determined that next time he would make the effort.

But for now, it was early, it was cold and they both had some sleep to catch up on.


	6. The Mirror Gazes Also

**A/N: Sorry about the delay. **

**Thank you again for your reviews. It is important for me to know that I'm on the right track, especially concerning the characters.**

**Nellodee, the strip club will probably be a few chapters on, but oh boy, I cannot wait to start writing that chapter XD  
**

**And so onto the next installment. Quite a short chapter this one.  
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The Mirror gazes also

Walter walked down the alley, each step echoed softly off the parallel brick walls on either side of him. He stared straight ahead and kept walking along the grey path. The walls continued. There were no side exits, no other pathways to turn down. Still he walked forward in the silent night. He heard no sound apart from the soft rhythmic ticking of his boots.

There were no sounds to be heard-no chattering, no windows shutting, no yells or rattling of dustbin lids…no screams. It was as though a black hole had appeared from nowhere and sucked away the background noise…

…except for the sound of Walter's boots.

_Tick_

_Tick _

Walter walked on.

_Tick_

There was something behind him. He could sense its presence.

_Tick_

_Tick_

He continued to look ahead.

_Tick_

_Tick_

There came a sound behind him, close now. Walter stopped, leaving the echoing sound of his soles to be sucked into the void. Now the steady ticking came from his heart. In the dead silence the whisper behind his left ear sliced into his ear canal and clawed at his brain.

_Face me_, it breathed.

His heart ticked ever louder, a clock that thudded within him with nervous intensity

He turned. The clock in his chest made his body shudder and shudder again. The sound it made rattled his teeth, but he didn't want it to stop, no matter how painful it was.

Walter peered into the alley. The walls continued deeper, smoothly closing together and drowning in blackness at their distant vanishing point.

The intense ticking softened and that's when he heard a child's voice -softly chuckling- behind him. He turned again and faced the brick wall which blocked the pathway a few feet in front of him. The wall was smudged, two dark shapes rested on its façade, clinging together in breathless passion.

The figures were of man and woman, their painted silhouettes melding into each other's bodies, forced together by the heat of their embrace.

Walter's jaw opened slightly as he watched the body of the man shrink, the paint sliding across brick, contorting until it finally settled into the shape of a child. The woman's shape held its form; its only movement came from the torso which gave birth to two stumps of darkness, morphing its tentacles into arms and hands which reached out for the neck of the boy.

The silence was broken by another whisper in Walter's ear.

_Weak_, it hissed.

The sound of the ticking increased again, beating steadily and louder than ever.

The boy in the wall began to cry. Walter couldn't move, couldn't reach out and stop the woman from pushing her fingers into the boy's neck. He could only watch as her arms glided down the boy's torso, sinking into his chest.

Suddenly Walter was in the wall, he was a child again. He looked out at the figure of his adult self, standing there; a face with no features-just a blank blob. He could feel his mothers grasp scratching in his chest, trying to rip his heart out, trying to end the ticking.

'Help me' he sobbed to the red haired man.

He felt black tears roll down his cheeks as another figure emerged from behind the red-head. The fiend that whispered, that had followed him, wore a trench coat belted in the middle, its lapels turned up. It stared into the wall, directly at young Walter. Black blots moved together on the mask it wore, mirroring the crime it watched. Mother and child. Mother murdering child.

His mother's wandering hands clutched around their target. He felt a squeeze in his chest and watched in horror as the masked man placed one gloved hand around the redhead's blank face. His other hand reached up and clasped the back of the man's head.

Young Walter screamed as the masked man snapped the redhead's neck. He felt his heart being yanked forward, ripped from his chest.

The ticking stopped.

Walter awoke with a jolt. He gasped and clutched at his chest, anxious eyes flitting over the black shapes in his apartment.

His rapid breathing slowed as he heard the sound of a truck rumbling by. The first clattering of the city's morning life had begun.

Walter stopped rubbing his chest and swung his legs over the side of his single bed. He rested his arms on his knees, his head bowed. He let out a raspy, bitter chuckle and massaged his moist temples with one trembling hand.

'Time to get up' he murmured to himself.

The day started with coffee and a liberal helping of sugar, which he stirred in as he headed to the bathroom.

Walter placed the cup on the sink underneath the mirrored cabinet and reached out for the razor which lay used and grubby next to the faucet. He massaged a layer of Dial soap over the lower half of his face and quickly shaved, staring only at the white lather in the reflection.

His ablutions ended with a violent wielding of the toothbrush and a quick rinse of his face with cold water that spluttered and coughed out of the tap. He glanced over at the flannel draped over the bath and shook his head. He'd have to wash when he got back. There was no time now.

For the first time that morning, Walter regarded the whole of his face in the mirror. The man staring back at him had dull brown eyes, encircled by pink rims. Even in his mid twenties, lines had started to burrow into his forehead, the scowl dimple between his eyes especially prominent.

He glared at the bright copper strands sticking up from his head as though they were waving hello to him. Walter tamed their enthusiasm by drowning them in water.

He sighed and gazed into the heavy lidded eyes peering back at him. The wry grin that appeared softened the jaunty angles of his cheekbones, but it didn't make a huge difference.

In a city riddled with lies, the truth in the mirror was a difficult beast to ignore. The freckled face that sometimes looked out from its glass prison should not have been the face that it reflected, but there it was…neither black nor white. Walter slowly blinked and averted his gaze from the reflection.

There was no reason to be vain.

Walter left the bathroom, and after finished the last dregs of his coffee, he slipped into his white shirt and tightened the tie around the collar. He recollected the hands of his mother in his dream and left the tie looser than usual.

The hallway was quiet and empty as he crept over the floorboards. Mr. Shairp would still be sleeping, and Walter didn't want to rouse him. The man never failed to relay uninteresting and lurid snippets of personal information about his 'activities' to his tenant which invariably made Walter late for work or nauseated, sometimes both.

Half-way down the stairs, Walter eyed the landing floor above, as he had done for the last few months. He bent his knees and leapt, reaching for and grasping the ledge. He swung back and forth twice before he released his grip and landed with a soft _thlump_ on the ground floor.

It was one way to miss the creaking step.

He stepped out into the streets which, although littered, seem to shine in the purity of the morning light and snapped his head up as he saw a figure pass in front of him.

'Morning Mr. Kovacs' said the cheery female voice.

'Good morning, Mrs. Smith' he replied.

The post woman edged over to where Walter stood, rummaging in her mail bag as she did so. 'Just a couple for you today. Might be nothing spectacular, but if one of 'em is a check from a millionaire relative you didn't know you had, remember me, alright?' she said, winking at Walter. She handed over the envelopes.

Walter gave the woman a faint smile and nodded as she turned back to her letters.

One glimpse at the first letter revealed it would contain nothing more than a coupon for Lustre Crème Shampoo; the other had the 'New Frontiersman' logo stamped in faded black near the bottom corner of the envelope. He pocketed the second envelope and threw the first in the trash can beside him.

He watched as Mrs. Smith ambled past each door, pushing good and bad news into the mouths of letterboxes as she had done for the past five years since she had taken this round. She was a good person and always had a kind word and a smile for Walter.

He appreciated it.

His thoughts turned to Nite Owl and the meeting that had been set up for tonight. Walter had patrolled the streets alone for over a year now and he had never entertained the possibility of a partnership.

He had read about the new mask in the smaller columns of the papers, mostly during lunch hours when Walter had occasionally happened upon a deserted New York Gazette. He had been impressed with the results of the new pretender and had followed his story with interest. It was good that people had recognised that the filth in the city was accumulating much like scum on a pond. He appreciated that this Nite Owl was doing something about it…like him.

He wasn't sure if he approved of his costume though. It wasn't difficult to work out that the man had obviously been a fan of the first Nite Owl, but still, the amount of spandex this new mask wore was a bit off-putting.

And he seemed a bit wet about the ears.

Nevertheless, he had found a possible clue in the warehouse and seemed genuine enough. After Nite Owl had suggested the partnership, Walter had been too tired to argue against it…besides he had to admit to himself that he quite enjoyed the ride in the owl ship and entertained thoughts of experiencing it again. In addition, he felt a bit better knowing that he wouldn't have to go into Tweety's by himself.

Walter looked down the alley stretching ahead of him. Who knew where the collaboration would lead? The future wasn't set in stone and it and at the very least; Walter could walk the path with someone by his side. He didn't have to be alone.

Walter took a deep breath allowing a crisp snap of air to bite his lungs and walked on down the lonesome path, never once turning his head.

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**I'd like to take this moment to introduce my beta - WingedPig, who has kindly offered her talents for taking bad grammar and correcting it so it makes sense.**

**She's done a bloody good job on this chapter, that's for sure, so thank you WingedPig for your patient efforts and occasional threats to break my fingers if I make silly mistakes again. (she hasn't really, but I'm sure she's thinking of it.)**

**And so the WingedPig/Twisted Root partnership was born. XD**

**Future chapters will contain action,violence and Walter being harrassed, but I've got to set up some development scenes first. I hope they won't be too dull.  
**


	7. A Good Woman

**A/N: Nellodee, thank you so much for your kind review. I have to admit that its incredibly difficult trying to keep Rorschach (or walter pretending to be Rorschach) quite sane. I'm glad you noticed Walter's little workout on the stairs. I can't see 'his resourcefulness' going to the gym or purchasing a multi-functional workout thingamujig tbh. **

**Artsy Resuri - I hope you survived the wait.:P**

**Thank you for reading. **

A Good Woman

Dan stretched his legs out and yawned as he fumbled for his glasses on the bedside cabinet and silenced the alarm clock with a heavy swipe of his palm.

He blinked a couple of times to clear away the last remnants of misty eyed sleepiness, allowing some minutes to pass before he stumbled from the bed and into the bathroom.

Looking at the mirror, he wasn't surprised to see a wide grin appear in the reflection. He had had another dream about The Twilight Lady last night. It was the sort of dream that left you in a disproportionately good mood.

One day, he might actually meet her. There was only so much detail an article could reveal about Twilight's exploits, but Dan prided himself on being able to read between the lines and the space that lay between them was easily filled with a little help from his imagination.

Dan spat out the last of the toothpaste and stepped into the shower cubicle, the dream still very much in his mind.

..........

Settled at the kitchen table, Dan finished eating his boiled egg and read the first few pages of The New York Gazette. The front page continued its coverage regarding the deployment of U.S. soldiers to Vietnam. The second and third pages were devoted to various articles on political scandals and an amusing piece debating whether Dr. Manhattan should be allowed to wear virtually nothing. Dan laughed out loud at a quote from a mother who claimed to cover her daughter's eyes whenever the super being appeared on the news.

A story in one of the columns on page four that read: 'Man found guilty of rape' caught Dan's attention. The gist of the article focused on the trial but had little in the way of detail concerning the arrest. There was a lot of praise for the city's police force, mentioning at the end of the article that the suspect had in fact been captured and trussed up by the masked adventurer known only as 'Rorschach'.

Dan smiled. Rorschach certainly got results even if he didn't get much of the praise. From what he gathered from the masked man's demeanour, Dan suspected that Rorschach neither wanted nor cared for the glory. He was the city's guardian angel in a Fedora, quiet but effective, efficient if a little dour but mostly Rorschach was out to protect the community, gathering up criminals to face the fair and swift hand of justice…much like himself.

He threw the paper aside and busied himself with the washing the dishes.

After drying his hands, Dan looked up at the kitchen clock and decided he could afford a couple of hours tinkering before he went on his mission.

……….

At twelve-thirty, Walter shoved the last of the brassieres into its new cardboard home and grabbed his jacket. Forty five minutes for lunch-a respite from the constant reminder of childhood images of his mother. Now he provided the sordid undergarments for yet more potential whores. The irony was not lost on Walter, it never was.

The streets were full of claustrophobic life. Groups of people sandwiched together, eating sandwiches and giving barely a glance to their sandwich-consuming companions.

The midday snapshot of life depressed Walter, not because at this time of day people were content to forget about confrontation and the stress of work, but because they always seemed to stare past their sandwiches, not seeing what was in front of them but dwelling on old memories. There were no smiles, just glazed eyes and crinkled foreheads.

Dwelling on the past was something Walter tried to avoid at all costs. On occasion his mind would betray him and pop an image or a sound into his thoughts. Sometimes, all it took was the flapping of pigeon wings to hear the slap of a palm against young flesh, or maybe it was a squeaky wheel on a child's bicycle that reminded him of his youth, of long nights of not being able to sleep due to the constant groaning of overused bed springs carrying through the thin walls to his room.

Today it was a couple of boys looming over a smaller child next to the newstand. The smaller boy had the unmistakeable look of fear in his eyes-wide and glassy. His hands hung limply at either side of his polyester shorts.

The two threatening teens were dressed in similar styles -blue turn-up jeans and checked shirts, respectively mustard yellow and marsh green. The tallest boy, in the mustard shirt, was prodding his nicotine-stained finger into the willowy frame of his victim.

'I didn't do it, I swear' cried the small boy.

'Don't lie to me you little…'

'Aww, man. He's such a loser. What are you, you little squirt?' interrupted the bully in green.

The child finally rose his palms up in a placating gesture as the larger boy made to grab his shirt. Instead, mustard boy snagged the tie of the man that had slipped quietly between them.

'Urg, hey man, this doesn't concern…'

The teen shifted his challenging gaze up to the face of the interloper and immediately wished he hadn't. The man stared back with cold dark eyes.

…yuuh.'

Ordinarily, adult intervention didn't faze mustard-boy one bit, and the adult before him was only a couple of inches taller than him, but there was something decidedly creepy about this man. His eyes- shining black discs in deep set sockets-were unnaturally still and focused solely on him. The most worrying attribute was that this guy didn't blink…not once.

The boy in green backed away. 'Come on man, let's go.'

Mustard boy turned his head on hearing his friend's voice, but his eyes were snared by the man's intense look. He gave a little shocked gasp as the fiery haired man quickly leaned down, his mouth level with the bully's reddened ears.

'Why are you still here?' he whispered.

That seemed to break the spell and the two teens dashed across the road, a blur of yellow and green that scurried behind a billboard advertising Cavity-Go! Toothpaste. The blonde woman in the poster flashed her chalk white teeth toward the square's revellers and informed them to _Have a nice day, without decay_ (with new Dr. Manhattan technology-for that Atomic bright smile).

Walter Kovacs turned to the small boy who was just as awestruck as the bully.

'Did they hurt you?' Walter asked, his voice gruff and low.

The boy shook his head, mouth agape.

'What were they after?'

The boy blinked a few times and then spoke in a conspiratorial whisper 'They said I stole their marbles, but I didn't steal anything, I swear.'

Walter nodded thoughtfully and then turned to look down the high street. 'Where are your parents?'

'Mom's in the dress shop', the rosy cheeked boy pointed to a shop further up the street. 'Um, she's prolly looking for me' he finished.

Walter nodded again as the boy sloped away from him giving him a small wave as he retreated. When he backed into a hydrant, the boy turned and ran down the sidewalk, shouting: 'Thanks mister' over his shoulder.

Walter managed a wan smile and sauntered across to the Hot Dog vendor on the corner of fortieth and seventh, not noticing the small spherical glass ball that popped out of the boy's pocket as he skipped happily into the store.

Purchasing his lunch, Walter turned and headed to the park. There were far too many people roaming the streets now and he needed some quiet time before heading back to the work that he tolerated.

He passed by a bored looking woman with a clipboard. The Market researchers were out in force.

The market researcher's eyes lazily followed Walter's path as he walked by. She managed a beaming smile and opened her mouth before promptly shutting it again, her face a picture of indecision.

She was experienced in her job and prided herself on getting peoples attention with her winning smile and aura of charm. Her targets were categorized thusly: willing to talk/Could be persuaded to talk/Not interesting in talking but will eventually relent-when-cornered. When the glowering redhead passed her by, she added a new category with a confused shake of her head: Don't risk it.

Walter headed straight to the park bench where he spent most of his lunch breaks. His pace faltered for a moment when he noticed that another man was occupying one corner of his bench. _No matter,_ thought Walter, seeing the gentleman in question was mesmerized by his sandwich.

He sat down on the opposite end of the seat and uncoiled the napkin from around his hot dog. The man in the glasses seemed to awaken from his reverie on the sound of rustling and glanced over to Walter. He gave Walter a thin lipped smile, glanced at the hot dog and then back to his half-eaten chicken sandwich.

.........

Dan coveted the hot dog.

He sniffed the air again and sighed. Sometimes being a costumed adventurer meant going without-and junk food was one of the pleasurable sins Dan felt compelled to give up. He gave a side glance toward the man with the temptation, saw the ruffled curls of copper hair and immediately recalled his dream of the Twilight Lady. She was a redhead too.

..........

Walter heard a wistful sigh from his bench companion, and in the corner of his eye he saw the man's brow crinkle up as he stared past his sandwich.

..........

'I really don't have the time' Dan stuttered to the lady with the clipboard. 'I'm really sorry.'

The lady smiled sweetly, giving the man her best impression of a kicked puppy look.

Dan relented. His legs had done so before him. What he should have done was kept them moving, he thought glumly.

As the lady reeled off questions regarding his preference of dishwashing liquid, Dan idly glanced over her shoulder. He watched intrigued as the red headed man from the park bench spoke briefly to the Newsvendor before striding off apace down Main street with a magazine in hand, looking back once to a white-bearded and grizzled man carrying a sandwich board with the words:' The End is Nigh' emblazoned in harsh black against the white background.

Dan stared at the black on white and remembered that he had to prepare for the meeting with Rorschach that night. There was a criminal to catch and he still needed to buy his _item_.

He turned his gaze back to the woman and stepped back a few paces.

'No, look, I'm really sorry. There's somewhere I have to be' he stated in a strong voice, cutting her off mid-sentence. He waved his hands in the air and gave a sympathetic shrug before he turned on his heel. He didn't give the woman a chance to change his mind and sped away from her, feeling incredibly guilty as he did so.

..........

An hour later after his mission had been accomplished and, with the results of that mission contained in a little paper bag he clutched, Dan turned down into one of the labyrinth of passageways that littered his journey home. He strode purposefully forward and turned a corner, where he was suddenly confronted by the sight of police officers cordoning off a small section of the pathway.

His heart sank upon seeing the yellow tape.

Dan pushed gently through the crowd of onlookers, his height giving him the advantage of surveying the murder scene above the heads of the morbidly curious.

There was an unpleasant squeeze in his stomach at the sight which greeted him.

The body of the woman lay face down in a gutter. Even from a distance, Dan could see that her curly black hair was sodden. In the dry weather, Dan knew with a heavy heart what it was that had soaked the tresses. He felt his jaw clench when he spotted her pink mules scattered about the scene a couple of yards from her feet, small spots of blood splatter staining their rosy hue.

Shocked whispers from the onlookers beside him caught his attention. They had known her, had seen her before. Dan listened in, a feeling of emptiness growing inside him. She was a wife, a mother of two, and had been well liked by those that knew her.

Dan watched as the detective scrutinized her work badge. Eager to distance himself from the ever-growing sobbing of the victim's acquaintances, Dan moved through the small gathering and stood discreetly behind the man with the victim's life, neatly laid out on paper.

One of the officers sidled up to the detective. 'They've got him, sir. Taking him to custody now.'

Dan noted the ragged tone in the young officer's voice and felt deeply sorry for him. He couldn't have been much older than him and already he looked life-worn and fed up.

The detective didn't look away from the Identity card as he said to the officer in a solemn voice: 'Ira Smith. Jesus, I knew her… She was a good woman. She delivered…she delivered my mail for Christ's sake.' He rubbed his temples and finally looked toward the Officer. 'Get Liza to contact Mr. Smith. I'll talk to her employers in the morning.'

Dan walked from the scene, unable to stomach much more. They had caught the son of a bitch, but it was too late for poor Ira. _If only he had been here_, he grimaced, crushing the paper bag in his hand, _instead of buying a damn cup holder_.

Dan trudged down the path, feeling drained and utterly alone.

* * *

**Many thanks again to my wonderful beta: WingedPig. She corrects the God-awful parts fair and true and tells me the score, for which I am eternally grateful.**


	8. Tweety's

**A/N: Thank you for your kind reviews and apologies about the slight delay for this chapter. Without further ado, here it is: **

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Tweety's

It was still light when Walter returned to his apartment. The day's work at the garment factory finished the way it had begun-with Walter wishing he was someplace else.

Still, amongst the continuous influx of lace and polyester, Walter's mind focused on the night's visit to Tweety's. He dwelt less on the unsavoury images that were buried within the diseased heart of the club, and more on his new partnership with Nite Owl. Walter was curious to see how the bird-man would conduct his interrogation and whether it would be similar to his own style.

Even though the squeaky step betrayed his presence, Walter managed to slip into his apartment unnoticed. It was an unusual occurrence to avoid bumping into the ever-lurking Mr. Shairp, but it was a nice omen for the rest of the night. If things went well, the celebration of the partnership would culminate in the eventual capture of Underboss, who had already enjoyed his freedom for more days than Rorschach would have liked.

He skittered around the small room he called his bedroom, front room and kitchen. The only other separate space in his apartment was the bathroom, which was about twice the size of a broom closet.

Walter went into the bathroom now; his shirt, undershirt and trousers already dispensed with on the side of the greying bath. Flannel in hand and water filled halfway up the basin, Walter picked up the soap and began to vigorously scrub the suds over his body. A small part of him thought that maybe his clean skin could repel the filth that he would encounter in the strip club. The thought of people's sickness somehow contaminating him disturbed Walter. He shuddered and decided to wash again after the visit.

Two minutes later and Walter had pulled on his trousers and stained vest.

He threw a can of spaghetti hoops into a rinsed pan and set it on the hob. Utilities were included in the rent, but even so, Walter was sparing in his use of the oven, the main reason being that it was temperamental and the last thing Walter wanted was to die a useless and stupid death like Dollar Bill. He couldn't afford to be blown to Kingdom Come especially at a time when his city needed someone to clean up its scum.

With the meal consumed, the plate discarded in the sink and the coffee half drunk, Walter threw the week's accumulation of cans in a paper bag and headed for the door.

There was movement in the hall outside, and Walter noticed the lanky frame and balding pate of his landlord.

He wasn't surprised to see Mr. Shairp on the landing, but the young woman lurking behind him was a new face. He quickly skimmed his eyes over the stranger-a tall, wavy-haired brunette sporting a face that was covered in a mask of garish colours and wearing clothes that covered little and revealed too much.

They both turned to Walter as he placed the bag on the floor.

'Ahh, Walter, my man, haven't seen you in days! How are ya, fella?' bellowed Mr. Shairp with a beaming smile which creased the lines around his eyes.

'I'm fine Mr. Shairp. Yourself?' replied Walter, keeping his eyes on his landlord.

'I'm just dandy', he replied. The youthful twinkle in his eyes was at odds against the forty two year old pock-marked face. A sharp nudge by his female companion made him jump. 'Of course, I'm sorry, honey. Walter, I'd like you to meet my Dolores.'

The woman slinked beside Mr. Shairp, staring with undisguised distaste at Walter's face. Her eyes moved down across his muscular shoulders and arms and eventually, when her gaze returned to his face, they were accompanied with a predatory smile.

Walter disliked her immediately.

'You never mentioned your daughter was visiting' he said, ignoring the woman's gaze.

Mr. Shairp chuckled. 'Um, no, she's not my daughter Walter.' He finished the statement with a wink.

Dolores took her cue and shuffled in front of Mr. Shairp, raising one hand to Walter. Her nails were like talons, the crimson polish on them already chipping.

'Very pleased to meet you…Walter' she slurred as he gingerly shook her hand.

Walter kept his features neutral. _Not only is she dressed like a whore, she's also drunk to the gills._ 'Likewise, Miss…?' replied Walter in a dull tone. His whole body went rigid as she ran the tip of a talon across the top of his hand. Walter felt an unpleasant icy tentacle slither down his back and quickly jerked his hand away.

'Just Dolores' she purred, giving Walter a distinctly lascivious grin and moving her eyes across his chest again.

Walter clenched his jaw and sneered at the woman, which made no difference whatsoever. Her blurry sight due to intoxication saw something different than the scowling, freckle-splattered face that was actually there.

'Well, I'm bushed' said Dolores as she wobbled past Mr. shairp. She leaned on the doorframe and slurred 'I'm going to bed, honey'. As he turned his back, she returned her gaze to Walter. 'See you there.'

With a lick of her scarlet lips, she disappeared into the apartment. Walter burrowed his short, chipped nails into his palm. He felt physically sick.

'She's a little firecracker, that one. Know what I mean?' whispered Mr. Shairp, wriggling his eyebrows at Walter. 'You know, you should get a girlfriend. You can always bring her back here, no restrictions pal.'

'I'll keep that in mind' Walter spat, his nose crinkling.

'There are lots of lovely available women out there' Mr. Shairp continued. He had had this conversation with his tenant on many occasions. He felt sorry for Walter, and wanted to see him experience a little of the joy he was currently having with his new lady friend. After all, even the ugliest of faces could find companionship.

Unbeknownst to Mr. Shairp, Dolores wandered back into view in the front room clad in a black negligee, her flesh spilling out of any space that wasn't contained by lace.

The woman gave Walter a huge smile. It reminded him of a shark. He sneered and averted his eyes to the floor.

'She's quite something, huh? Like they say, there's plenty of fish in the sea, Walter. You take my Dolores for example…she's quite the catch.

'Urm.' Walter decided enough was enough and backed into his apartment. 'If I were you, I'd throw her back in.' he muttered, closing his door.

Mr. Shairp shook his head and decided that he must have misheard his tenant. He glanced back at the woman, who was puffing away of a cigarette, allowing the ash to drop into her cleavage. _Yep, he must have misheard Walter. No one could ever say anything bad about his wonderful Dolores_, he thought. With another beaming smile, Mr. Shairp rubbed his hands together and scuttled off to his angel in black lace.

…………..

Evening closed in, replacing the city's eyesore of bright litter with the headache of pulsating neon. As the city's day workers closed their doors, night workers opened their's and fell into the streets in a wave of vibrant and ill-fitting clothing.

Nite Owl surveyed the night lights flickering on from his position just below the clouds. Archie hummed quietly and bobbed through the air without drawing attention. Dan knew that on the rare occasion that people would glance up, they would spot yet another blimp, owl-shaped, and of no concern to them whatsoever.

He gently lowered the owl ship over a pawn shop a block away from his destination. All the shops in the area were closed for the night and the only sign of life in the street below were from stray animals, stray people and stray taxis.

He jumped slightly as he caught further movement in the corner of his vision and turned to watch the lone figure pacing along the roof top; fedora tipped slightly forward, hands in pockets, belt slithering in the breeze like a flat brown snake.

Dan smiled. He hadn't been sure Rorschach would come. Even though it had been arranged, Dan had the feeling that Rorschach was used to working alone and might even prefer it, but here he was at their arranged meeting point, bang on time.

He opened the hatch and climbed down the ladder.

On the roof he piloted Archie back into the sky with his remote and twisted his head to greet his partner.

'I'm glad you came' said Dan, his hands adjusting the toggle on the bulky remote.

Rorschach nodded and turned his stark white face upwards to watch the ascent of Archimedes. The black patches moved steadily across the mask, not giving away any clues to expression.

When Dan was satisfied that the ship was hidden, he attached the remote to the back of his belt, behind his cape, and walked over to Rorschach.

'Well, I suppose there's no point in delaying the inevitable.'

'I suggest we start in the office first. There could be information in their paperwork; addresses, contacts', said Rorschach.

Dan pursed his lips and gave a little nod as they strode across the rooftop to the external fire stairs. It had preyed on his mind that they were about to break into a strip club and the thought brought a feeling of guilty pleasure with it. He wanted to apprehend Underboss as much as his partner, but a small part of his mind also entertained the idea that they wouldn't find any clues in the office and that they would have to delve into the main body of the club.

As they descended the stairs and walked along the deserted alleys toward Tweety's, Dan tried not to smile too much.

They reached their destination in silence. Dan understood that the man beside him wasn't much of a talker, which suited him for the moment as Dan's imagination was otherwise occupied. Besides, stealth was the key to being a masked adventurer; idle small talk could end up announcing your presence to the people you seek.

When Dan finally spoke, it was at the brick base of Tweety's.

Rorschach was already eying the bottom rung of the metal ladder.

'Hang on a minute' whispered Dan.

He reached under his cape and whipped out a cylindrical device which looked very much like a small harpoon and handed it to Rorschach, who turned it over and over again in his gloved hands.

'Grappling gun. I made these a few months ago. The one you're holding is a slightly older version but works just as well. Thought they might come in handy for tonight' said Dan with a small shrug of his shoulders.

'Right' mumbled Rorshach, running his finger across the pointed tip of the hook.

'The dials on the side adjusts the wire length, and it's just a matter of pointing and pulling the trigger' explained Dan, retrieving his own gun and aiming it skywards.

The hook shot out and flew past darkened windows and red brick, until its point disappeared over the ledge. There was a soft clink and Dan felt the automatic reel pull. He gave an experimental tug on the gun and nodded.

'There. It's that simp…' He glanced over to Rorschach who had already aimed and fired.

Although the wire's track was a lot less smooth, the hook secured itself next to Dan's.

'Great' said Dan.

'Very useful' remarked Rorschach, nodding approvingly.

In seconds they were on the club's roof. It didn't take Rorschach long to pick his way through the door lock.

They crept past a host of locked rooms; Dan walked a little way behind Rorschach, glancing with interest at the photographs of the club's workers which hung on the corridor walls. Rorschach didn't move his head, content to stare straight ahead. When they finally reached a sign that denoted the proprietor's office, Rorschach set to work again, twisting and jabbing the wires into the keyhole until the latch softly clicked.

They spent a little longer in the office than Dan would have liked. There were reams of names in the proprietor's address book, but not the one they were looking for. Rorschach skimmed through files while Dan checked ledgers, eventually they came out empty handed.

'I guess its plan B, then' stated Dan, with a little too much excitement in his voice.

..........

Rorschach grunted as they made their way down the stairs. Dan could see his partner's shoulders hunching up as they moved closer to the entrance to the Dance floor.

It was Dan who opened the door ajar. He peered through the gap and gasped.

'What is it?' hissed Rorschach, beside him.

'My God…They're…they're wearing tassels!' He stammered.

'Any sign of Weet?' asked Rorschach in an impatient voice.

'Er, hang on a minute.' Dan gladly turned his gaze away from the dancers, one of whom reminded him of his grandmother in Maine.

The proprietor-Tom Weet-wasn't a difficult man to spot. In the office Nite Owl and Rorschach had just left, they couldn't help but notice the many black and white photographs of him, posing with various celebrities. Dan even had a closer look at one such photograph, showing a man who looked startlingly like Frank Sinatra.

Dan quickly identified Weet, who sat at the back table of the club, chatting to a group of suited men, each of them looking as though they'd just stepped off a James Cagney movie.

'Got him' said Dan. 'Back of the club, the man with ginger hair.' Dan chuckled. The day had begun with the fiery-haired tresses of Twilight very much in Dan's mind. In the afternoon, he shared his lunch break at the park with a copper-haired gentleman, and now the day was ending with yet another redhead. 'Who'd have thought?' he muttered.

Rorschach gave a low growl in response.

'Let's go introduce ourselves' whispered Dan, shooting a sly grin at his partner.

Nite Owl swung open the door and strode through. Rorschach followed behind, his hands firmly planted in his coat pockets and his mask turned away from the stage.

The room was lavishly decorated with rich red carpeting and gaudy purple wallpaper. Heavy velvet curtains hung at either side of the stage, which in turn was populated by five strippers who gyrated slowly and wore nothing but sequinned knickers and incredibly bored expressions.

Circular tables took up to the space off the stage, each cluttered with glasses and green table lamps which were partially covered in a mist of cigarette smoke.

It took a few seconds for the clientele to notice the sudden appearance of the two oddly dressed intruders. One of the men at the bar did a double take when he saw Nite Owl, before shooting an accusing look at the contents of his whisky glass.

By degrees, the chattering in the room faltered and then disappeared altogether. Every head turned away from the stage to look at the strange guests. Drinks stopped pouring, tassels stopped twirling and the only sound that remained came from the speakers blaring out The House of the Rising Sun by The Animals.

Nite Owl gave the audience a grin. 'Good evening gentlemen…and ahem…ladies', he announced.

The man at the bar asked for another shot of whisky.

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**For those who have not yet read the book, and have seen the movie, I should explain that lady friend (Dolores) is Walter's landlady in the G/N in the 1980's. They have a mutual dislike of each other. At one point after Walter is arrested, Mrs. Shairp tells a big fib to journalists, saying that Walter had '...frequently propositioned her sexually.' Bad Dolores!**

**Many thanks go to my beta WingedPig, who is simply brilliant. Nuff said!  
**

**The visit to Tweety's continues in the next chapter** =)


	9. Coke in Green Glass Bottles

**Sorry about the delay...again. This is due to my panicking about how to do forthcoming chapters. I pretty much know how this story will end, however it's the hole-riddled road leading up to it that is causing me a few problems.**

**On top of this, the reviews are fantastic, more than I hoped for and I don't want to let anyone down with plot holes, stupid characterizations or anything else that makes a writer hugely paranoid. That being said, I will be working on the next few chapters like a thing possessed. I just hope they make sense.  
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**Thank you kind reviewers for all your comments. It is always a pleasure to read them and it keeps me going, it really does.**

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Coke in Green Glass Bottles

Tom Weet glared at the men in the costumes. In an effort to settle his customers, he motioned to his girls to continue their show. They blinked lazily and twisted to the music, shuffling closer to the edge of the stage.

Nite Owl turned to Rorschach. 'Let's see if we can persuade him to talk.'

Rorschach's head had turned toward the far edge of the stage; his masked chin jutted forward as the blobs stretched and weaved up his cheeks and across his forehead. His whole body seemed to incline forward. Dan was reminded of a bloodhound which had suddenly caught a scent.

'What's up?' Dan asked.

'Mmmm, it may be nothing. You talk to Mr. Weet. I'll join you soon,' replied Rorschach, still staring into the near distance.

Before Dan could protest, Rorschach began to stalk around the tables, paying little attention to the customers and ignoring the strippers completely.

Dan turned to Tom Weet and company. He noticed one of the men idly flicking at something at the side of his hip. Dan spotted the catch on the gun and immediately felt exposed. He had no problems interrogating suspects before, but the majority of them were petty criminals or drug addicts who didn't pose much of a threat to him. Although Dan had confronted the higher echelons of the criminal classes in the past, he knew that their danger lay hidden behind a charming smile. The trick was to let them believe you were a potential victim.

He decided that the best course of action in this instance was to act as casual as possible, as though this was a passing visit by a prospective customer.

………….

Tom Weet's eyes became slits as the man in the giant owl costume approached his table. His frown deepened as he noticed a slight swagger in the man's walk. He was so bemused by the sight, that he almost didn't notice the man's partner edging up to one of the tables near the stage.

'Greetings' said the man in the owl suit as he stopped in front of the table.

Tom grimaced and kept his hands under the table.

'What the hell do you think you're playing at?' Tom hissed.

……….

'Where do you think you're going?' growled Rorschach.

The man rising up from the table in front of the stage felt the force of a hand on his shoulder, pushing him back into his seat. He had spent the last few minutes averting the masked man's gaze. He even managed to sink further under the table than he had ever done before. It made no difference. He had the unfortunate luck of having bumped into the costumed nut before, about a year ago just before his arrest on charges of burglary. His pinkie finger had healed but it was never the same as it had been.

'Clifton Fowler, also known as Fingers Fowler' said Rorschach in a low voice.

Clifton hung his head and groaned.

'How _is_ your finger?' asked Rorschach, grabbing the man's hand from behind.

'Eeeeeeee….I don't know nothing. I haven't done nothing. Please,' crackled the whiney voice.

Rorschach leant over Clifton's shoulder and pulled his wrist up. The watch surrounding his wrist was fat and shiny. Rorschach peered at the face as though trying to make out the time.

'Rolex. An expensive time piece for a man who 'hasn't done nothing'' hissed Rorschach.

'Got it for my birthday?' answered Clifton, with more than a little pleading in his tone.

Rorschach jerked the man's wrist back at a painful angle, but thankfully there was no sickening snap to accompany it. Still, it made Clifton's eyes water.

'Where is he?'

'W-Who? Owwww!'

'You've worked for him before. Lie to me again and you won't be able to shove your _hard earned_ money in whores' underwear for the next three months.'

'Who are you calling a whore, freak?' snapped one of the strippers as she gyrated in front of the men.

Rorschach looked up to see an abundance of wobbling fat shimmying less than a foot away from him.

'Get those things out of my face' he spat. Rorschach turned his back on the stripper and added pressure to Clifton's wrist.

'Eeaaaaaargh!'

'I'll ask you once more. Where is…'

………………

'Underboss' asked Dan. 'He's known to have frequented this club on more than one occasion.' Dan smiled.

The men surrounding Tom had relaxed their trigger fingers once they'd decided that the man dressed as an owl didn't pose a threat. He seemed almost comically unaware of the danger he was in. Tom smiled back at Dan and shrugged his shoulders.

'He hasn't been here for months. I'd give you his last known address, but of course he wouldn't be dumb enough to be seen there again…would he?'

Dan noted the redhead's shifting gaze, his quick blinking and the clenched jaw, and knew that Tom was trying too hard to show he wasn't lying. Dan's smile grew wider.

'Listen. All we want is Underboss; you can go on running your club without interference from the authorities and my partner and I will leave here without a fuss.'

Tom chuckled and nodded, raising his hand from under the table. The hand held a gun which pointed at Nite Owl. 'You can leave in a body bag, and the authorities wouldn't interfere.' His chuckling increased into a deep throaty laugh.

Dan looked at the gun and then at Tom. He began to laugh too. He raised both hands in the air. 'Well, I guess we'll just have to leave empty handed then.'

Dan took a step back-still laughing-rolled on his heel and propelled his knee up into the edge of the table. Tom and two of his cronies on either side of him stopped the table with their faces. Nite Owl's fist was faster than the other man's fumbling for his gun and he quickly fell into unconsciousness.

……………

Rorschach automatically released Clifton's wrist on hearing the commotion. He looked over to Nite Owl and saw he had the situation controlled and lunged to grab his suspect as he struggled out of his chair. His head jerked around when he heard the smashing sound behind him. The sudden weight on his back threw Rorschach forward. He twisted and fell back into one of the pillars, grabbing one of the legs that were wrapped around his waist. The stripper still clung onto him, slashing at the back of his coat with something sharp. Rorschach felt the pain rippling down his shoulder and immediately punched his elbow back. The stripper dropped the smashed green coke bottle and slipped off his back, clutching at her stomach.

He ignored the pain and the stripper, concentrating on where Clifton had ran to. Rorschach clenched his fists tight and growled when he knew the man had successfully escaped him. He turned on the stripper and grabbed her hair.

'Stupid, stupid woman,' he spat.

He yanked her hair up, which promptly unattached itself from her head. Rorschach looked down at the teary eyed stripper and then at the wig.

'Alopecia' she groaned. 'And I'm not stupid; I just want to keep my job.' She grabbed the hair piece from Rorschach's grasp and slapped it back on her head.

Rorschach cocked his head to one side and stared at the pathetic animal before him. 'Get a new career' he said, and walked away.

…………

Dan turned to his partner as he shuffled up behind him. 'Mr. Weet is refusing to co-operate' he said with a sigh.

Tom Weet sat limply amongst the knocked-out body's surrounding him, held up by his collar which was stained red with the blood pouring out of his nostrils. He murmured something intelligible and gave a wan smile, showing a plethora of blood-splattered teeth, which clashed horribly with his ginger hair.

'You know something, Mr. Weet. Give it up now' said Dan softly, giving a little shake of the man's collar.

'Allow me.' Rorschach bent forward and gently placed his gloved thumb and forefinger around the proprietor's nose.

Dan winced as Rorschach slowly rotated his wrist. Tom squealed as more blood spluttered onto his shirt.

'I dunth know anythun' he cried.

'Humph.' Rorschach twisted his nose with a sharp jerk.

'AAAAAIEEEEEEEEE!'

'I can't get him to stop unless you tell us something. Anything' said Dan, grimacing at the amount of sticky fluids seeping across his glove.

'Duhh, ere 'esterday. Doh..know if he'd comid back.'

'Address?' said Rorschach sharply.

'duh…no address. Pleeeaze, d'truth.'

'You make me sick' hissed Rorschach.

Dan released Tom's collar, leaving him to slide out of Rorschach's grasp and over the edge of the upturned table.

'Let's go' he sighed.

They walked past the stunned clientele, past the bar tender who held a broom in his shaking hands and past the man at the bar, still holding onto his whisky glass.

As the staff door swung to a close, the man at the bar turned to the barman. 'S'pose I'd better get back to the wife' he slurred. He took one long gulp of the golden contents and grabbed his hat.

………………..

Nite Owl was first on the roof; Rorschach followed behind, his head bowed, and his hands back in his coat pockets.

'Well, that was a waste of time' said Dan, taking out Archie's remote control. It was late now and Dan really didn't care if any of the hookers on the street below saw the ship float through the clouds above them. 'Did you get anything from that man? I assume he was some cohort of Underboss?'

'Correct assumption. He got away.'

Dan raised his eyebrows and was thankful that his surprised expression was hidden under the goggles. It was a rare occurrence that any man escaped the clutches of Rorschach.

Archie stopped a few yards over Tweety's roof. The ladder dropped and Dan gestured for Rorschach to scale the ladder first. The ink blots swam across the white as per usual but there was something about his partner's body language that caught Dan's attention.

When Rorschach gripped the ladder with one hand, leaving the other to feebly hold a lower rung, Dan noticed the split in his coat and the blood which stained its edges.

'You're hurt' said Dan.

'It'll heal' replied Rorschach.

'Uh huh. I've got some medical equipment on board.'

'That's not necessary. It's just a scratch.' Rorschach pulled himself through Archie's hatch with some effort.

It was clear to Dan that he was in pain. 'I'll take a look at it anyway'.

Rorschach sighed but didn't argue.

Within minutes, Archie was resting above the clouds.

* * *

**Many thanks to my wonderful beta: WingedPig, who's attention to detail is invaluable to me as well as her constant reminders of where apostrophes should be placed :D **

**She's so patient.  
**


	10. Unchained

**Thank you all for continuing to read. I'm glad this story hasn't died a death just yet. **

**Teacrumb: Really pleased you spotted the coke bottle reference (they just don't make them anymore). I like to think that Dan sometimes forgets that he's dressed up like an owl XD **

**WingedPig: Loveliest of all betas. I do get nervous when making those changes, just in case I bugger up the grammar and punctuation etc. Glad you liked the changes though *wipes sweat off brow***

**Nellodee: Completely agree with you in regards to Rorschach's attitude toward women. He might have been shy around them as a child (and that note on his behaviour was someone elses opinion) but I don't think that this should equate to fear. The distrust and resentment might be there, but terrified? I too, cannot see this. *promises to do one's duty and finish this story with the help of many, many coffee breaks and the occassional sobbing* And thank you so much the lovely comment. **

**Raven Aorla: Ahh, that dynamic will be in the spotlight again after this chapter (hopefully...I have a habit of changing my mind about things at the last minute)**

**Whilst writing this chapter, I kept thinking of the film 'Ghost' and that pottery scene. No idea why :)  
**

Unchained.

The half-moon shone brightly through Archie's eyes, dousing the ship's interior with patches of brilliant white. The ship's dashboard and chairs spat out blue-grey shadows which partially covered the rumpled trench coat that was folded neatly over the armrest of the passenger chair.

The owner of the coat stood facing the smooth, curved wall of the owlship, whilst the taller man behind him murmured to himself and fidgeted around with the contents of a large green box.

To cover the silence that had descended between them, Dan had opted to switch the radio on. He wanted to catch up on the latest news reports anyway and it was yet another recent addition to the ship that needed a test-run.

'This really isn't necessary' mumbled Rorschach, undoing the top two buttons on his shirt.

'It'll heal quicker if treated. You don't want it getting infected' argued Dan, lurking behind him.

He rolled his eyes and found some gauze and tape, which he placed on the pulled out medical bed beside him. Since Rorschach had refused to lie on the bed, its use had been downgraded to instrument tray for the medical apparatus that Dan had pulled out of the kit.

'Do you have any experience in dressing wounds?' asked Rorschach.

'Um, yeah' replied Dan 'took some training.'

'Where?'

Dan smiled. _Always the detective, _he thought. 'Boy Scouts', he said simply.

This prompted Rorschach to look over his shoulder at him. Dan beamed.

'Kidding. Don't worry' he said as Rorschach gingerly lowered the collar of his shirt down past his shoulders. 'I'll…er…'

Dan's mouth dropped. The first thing his eyes focused on was the shard of green tinted glass that poked out of the blood soaked wife-beater. It reflected a slow moving white blot against Nite Owl's grey chest as Rorschach's muscles tensed.

'mmmm-may need stitches' Dan said in a croaky voice. This worried Dan. He had stitched a deep cut on his leg a few months before, and it had hurt and no amount of poring through nursing manuals prepared him for that.

'Give me a minute, I think I have something in here I can use as a local anaesthetic.' He burrowed once more into the box.

'Don't bother, just clean it up or leave it. I told you it'll be fine.'

'You have an open wound, for Pete's sake. It needs stitching. Trust me, I'll er, try to be as careful as possible' Dan finished feebly.

'Not instilling me with confidence, Nite Owl. Does the radio need to be on?'

Dan looked over at the console. The news wasn't due for another ten minutes and the DJ was subjecting his listeners to awful recounts of his recent holiday in the Caribbean. Dan was tempted to wander over and switch the witless voice off, but he had a feeling that if he did so, he would turn to see Rorschach with his shirt and jacket back on. Dan wasn't going to be fooled so easily.

'News will be on soon,' he replied tersely. 'You're going to have to take your vest off, unless you want me to cut through it?'

Rorschach gave a low rumbling growl and straightened his back. 'Cut it' he finally answered.

Dan retrieved the scissors and set to work, being careful to avoid the wound and creating a hole big enough to gain access to the bloodied skin. He set aside the stained piece of clothing onto the bed and listened- without paying much attention- to the DJ as he prattled on in joyous tones.

_Right then. We have a request here from one of our listeners. I absolutely love this song and I'm sure you will do too. So this is for you, Miss Laurie Juspi..Juspex…Juspectic…Um, this is for lovely Laurie.' _

Dan covered the cotton wool with iodine and gently pushed against the red flesh on Rorschach's back. Rorschach's shoulders shot up as he jerked forward away from the pressure of the pad against his flesh.

'Try to keep still' Dan snapped. This was ridiculous; he hadn't even begun the stitching yet.

'Hmmm.' Rorschach responded by resting his palms against the wall. 'Okay.'

Dan gave a quick shake of his head and began to quickly stroke the wool along his patient's shoulder blade. The wool quickly became saturated with blood and Dan winced as small dribbles snaked from the wound. Taking out the shard of glass would be a challenge but first he needed to clean the area. Dan took a deep breath and pushed on with a fresh piece of cotton wool, frowning slightly as Rorschach involuntarily moved forward again.

It was tense to be in this position and Dan knew he couldn't blame Rorschach for his reaction. At no point did Dan ever think he would be this close to a shirtless man and at no point did he think that the shirtless man would be Rorschach.

He leant closer and dabbed lightly around the torn flesh, hoping that Rorschach's pain threshold was high. Dan didn't want to end up with a split lip from a reflex punch from his partner and knowing this was always a possibility, he tried to be as gentle and as quick as possible. He didn't want Rorschach to feel as awkward as he did.

_Oh, my love, my darling,_

_I've hungered for your touch_

_A long, lonely time_

Nite Owl glared at the radio in horror. He could see in the corner of his eye that Rorschach's head had slowly turned toward the console as well. Although the amorphous blots didn't clue in Dan to the thoughts of his partner, he could tell from the stiff posture and clenched gloved fists, that Rorschach harboured thoughts of murdering the radio.

'Er…So, what bottle was it?' Dan stammered. At this point, he felt the need to use small talk as a distraction from the song.

'What?' Rorschach hissed. The upper half of his body twisted suddenly, causing Dan's finger to brush against the shard of glass.

Dan stepped back as Rorschach bowed his head and clenched his fists again.

_Are you still mine?_

'What kind of bottle is er…this. In your shoulder.' Dan asked again, feeling incredibly foolish.

'Coke bottle. What difference does it make? Can't you turn the radio off?'

Dan decided enough cleaning was done and whilst Rorschach was distracted, mostly with pure annoyance at the song, he grabbed the tweezers and aimed for the edge of the pointed shard. He readied a large pad of wool in his other hand.

_I need your love,_

The shard slipped out along with another lengthy trickle of blood and an ominous growling from Rorschach.

_I need your love_

_God speed your love…._

'Right, I'll get to the stitching' said Nite Owl, fumbling with the suture.

…_to meeeee_

'This won't take much time at all.' Dan gritted his teeth and steadily pushed the needle through the bunched flesh. Dan winced at Rorschach's sharp intake of breath.

'Sorry,' Dan coughed.

'No need to apologize,' replied Rorschach.

Dan smiled and noticed- for the first time- light brown spots that crept out from under the back of Rorschach's mask as his shoulders hunched slightly with each stitch. Dan pursed his lips. He had never imagined that the masked terror of the underworld would have freckles, of all things.

With the final stitch in place, Dan gave another quick dab around the sore-looking wound and pressed a gauze pad over it.

Dan snapped several lengths of medical tape and slapped them across the soft material.

_And time goes by so slowly_

'We need to pursue another lead' said Rorschach.

'Uh, oh yeah. Underboss. I don't know what else we could try.' Dan was glad for the interruption.

'Every day he remains free, innocent lives are in danger.'

'Agreed.' Dan frowned as he fixed another strip of tape across his patient's shoulder blade. _Innocent _'like Ira' he whispered to himself.

'What?' said Rorschach, turning his masked face toward Dan.

'Oh, nothing' Dan gave a heavy sigh. He wasn't sure if now was the time to ramble on about yet another murder in the city. There were plenty of them and they had already been disappointed by the night's venture. Sad news of an innocent falling prey to the city's violent classes would be the poisoned icing on a mouldy cake.

'Was it a murder?' asked Rorschach.

'You're very astute' replied Dan in a sad tone. 'Yeah, a woman mugged and beaten to death. God, you know sometimes this city is just….'Dan trailed off and slapped the last bit of tape across Rorschach's back with a little more force than was intended. 'She was a post woman. Just coming back from work, I think.'

Dan frowned as Rorschach snapped his head round, causing the edge of the tape to become unstuck.

'Name? What was her name?' Rorschach asked in a half whisper.

Dan stared at the steady movements of black on his partner's mask. There was a sense of urgency in the question that worried Dan. He regularly felt the weight on his shoulders whenever he came across another life lost. It was only natural to empathize, but from what Dan had seen of Rorschach, he felt that this was an area that maybe his partner was lacking.

Maybe he was wrong.

'Erm, her name was Ira…Ira Smith.

Rorschach's head jolted around to face the wall again. Dan's fingers shot off his patient's back when he felt his partner's back muscles bunch up. Dan watched agape as Rorschach's whole body stiffened, his taut shoulders forcing the edges of the tape to release their grip on his flesh. In one swift movement, Rorschach had pulled his crimson stained shirt back over his shoulders. The torn purple pinstripe jacket followed, then the white scarf.

Dan stood back and watched as Rorschach's arms dropped to his sides. The man remained motionless, staring at the wall. Dan didn't know what to make of this development. The sudden change in Rorschach's posture was worrying. He looked very much like a coiled snake, ready to lunge and strike at any given moment.

'Are you okay?' asked Dan softly. He stood a few paces back from Rorschach, allowing his partner space but not knowing entirely sure why this was necessary. Something was terribly wrong, and Dan didn't want to push his luck with a comforting pat on the shoulder, no matter how much he wished to do it.

There was a moment's silence before Rorschach answered 'Fine.'

Dan felt the hairs on the back of his neck bristle. 'Well, I'll turn Archie about. We'll have to decide what to do nex..'

'Happy Harry's. Will find informant's there. Find Underboss,' cut in Rorschach.

'Uh, okay.' Dan bit his lip and settled into the pilot's seat. Rorschach's response was terse as usual, but there was something not quite right about its tone. It had dropped a couple of octaves and apart from the usual raspy delivery; there was a new, almost emotionless quality about it-each syllable hard and dull like a lead weight dropped from a great height.

The change made Dan increasingly worried for the man who was now pacing back and forth behind him.

One thing was for sure, he knew he should never have mentioned the murder.

_I need your lo.._

Dan switched off the radio and turned Archie about.

* * *

**The song is Unchained Melody by The Righteous Brothers (All lyrics are the property and _copyright_ of their respective rights holders**, **obviously this doesn't include me**)**. Apparently, this song was out in the year this is set, and so I decided to use it in order to make the duo cringe a bit. **

**Many thanks and cyber-cookies to WingedPig, who is doing a brilliant job of beta'ing. Thoroughly appreciate it, mate.  
**

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